She had been touched before: caressed by the sultry, perfumed breath of another woman and soothed, by lips just as soft and delicate, arousing…
Like a thief in the night (for Sigrún was indeed the stealer of hearts and all good sense), cloaked in shadow like a clandestine temptress on that moonless night, the seductive Sister and advisor to the High-Maiden had descended upon more humble quarters with devious intent and a lustful sigh. Valkyrie, so unluckily naive and young, had attracted her superiors eye already, on more than one occasion; so while the frigid alpine wind whistled by and the Sisterhood slept ever peacefully beneath their rugged mountain, the bewitching beauty had lured her pure-hearted victim into the unfathomable world of sin.
The sweltering skin beneath her rain-drenched coat of white, tingled, wild with excitement. It had been many long months since she’d known the deliciously delicate touch of another woman (she’d craved the same from K’yarie for weeks) and even as those honeyed words infiltrated the deafening hum of desire in her mind, Valkyrie could barely break the blending syllables and shape them into meaning; either way, it seemed safe to assume that the floral gesture, despite having withered well beyond any of its initial perfection, was well received.
A dizzied smile was swift to swamp the disciple’s disheartened expression as her merciful goddess bent to nibble at the berries less bruised.
Mere moment’s later, K’yarie had consumed her preference. Valkyrie watched closely, adoringly, respectfully, always maintaining distance between them so as not to crowd or bother her host; this due diligence was well rewarded as the celestial being’s fleshy warmth sailed nearer, ghosting tormentingly by the Shieldmaiden’s screaming skin. Those flaring nostrils upon the dipped rosy-ball of her muzzle, inhaled deeply the sweet fragrance of her like it were a drug, intoxicating, and then the other’s pastel maw slid forward to touch a soft kiss against the stiff feathers of her wing.
The young pegasus closed her eyes tightly and held fast a breath as her idol breezed at last away from the clifftop, swirling tendrils of cosmic, intangible hair billowing after. Not even the pouring rain could weigh down the exquisiteness of her ethereal essence. As Valkyrie hastened to follow, she glanced briefly at the body of the fallen man with ears fixed in reverse and a scowl souring her pretty, feminine features: how she should have loved to take a piece of him…
The two mares had long since vanished into the jungle when a quiet creature immerged. Drawn by the scent of infection and horse. Smoke billowed out before him as he approached. Fangs were bared as the scent of the suffering stallion brushed his nose. A vision flashed before his eyes. Fangs enclosed around the other's neck. He could feel the breath catch in the other's throat as his jaws choked off the air from his weakening body. Slowly, slowly the life would begin to drain from the man that had fought so hard to survive. Stillness. Death. The other's blood upon his lips, tainting his tongue with its glorious flavor.
He snapped back into reality with a shuttered. This was not why he had come. He had come to save, not kill. That was not who he was. He swept towards the still form of Ricochet, nose low to the ground. He watched the other with large eyes and grey and stormy as the sky above. He carefully walked around the stallion, eyes never leaving his form. He stopped before him, angled towards the injured shoulder. The towering savior tapped into his magic. Heat spilled out from him, casing his body and that of Ricochet's to steam as the rain was evaporated around them. That heat would seep into the other's shoulder, taking away the pain and infection. It would do its best to help knit the wound together, but the damage was so bad. The infection too deep. It was all he could do to clear the tain from the other's body. He could at least keep it from getting this bad again. Setting the wound on the right track.
The warmth would ebb, retreating back into Rosco, taking the pain and infection with it. Exhaustion fell upon his like a mountain. His sides heaved, his heavy breath misting in cooling air. His head bowed over the still form of Ricochet as his legs shook. He took several deep breaths to gather himself before retreating from the other's form. "That should do it." He muttered. He turned slowly, his tired head held low as he plodded off into the jungle. He would watch from the shadows until the other stirred, before slipping off to find a place for himself to rest.
Rainforest Cliffs
